


A Good Thing When It Comes

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, M/M, cheer up fenris, fenris is a sad sack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-14
Updated: 2014-02-14
Packaged: 2018-01-12 10:28:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1185202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh, I don’t know you, do I?”  Her eyes take on a steely gleam.  “So I don’t know you’re sitting here pining over a certain man of new money with whom we’re both acquainted?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Good Thing When It Comes

**Author's Note:**

> I set out to write Valentine's Day porn, and instead I wrote Fenris being a sad-sack. Sigh. 
> 
> This is basically Fenris just trying to work himself up to visiting Hawke at night. Helped along by a certain lady pirate.

Fenris recognizes the perfume from a long way off. He knows he should have found another pub. 

“Well, well.” Isabela slides into the seat across the table. “Haven’t seen you around here, pretty elf.” 

Fenris sips his wine. It’s awful, but he hadn’t been expecting much better. “I’m not in the mood, Isabela.” 

She leans forward across the table, breasts almost spilling out of her bodice. “I could get you in the mood, I bet.” 

“Absolutely not,” Fenris says, liking the way the words feel in his mouth. It feels good—being able to tell people no. 

“You’re no fun at all,” Isabela tells him. Finally, she’s beginning to understand.

“Then why are you still here?”

Isabela laughs and flips her hair back behind her shoulders. “Give up that easily and you’ll never get anything you want. Besides…” She quirks an eyebrow at a man passing by. “You’re drinking alone, in the middle of the night in the filthiest bar in Lowtown. Friends don’t let friends do that alone.” 

“Friends?” Is that what they are? “You don’t know me well enough to call me friend.” He’s already had quite a bit of wine, but he’s sober enough to know he shouldn’t be talking to her. He’s already given away too much. 

Isabela cocks an eyebrow. “Oh, I don’t know you, do I?” Her eyes take on a steely gleam. It’s a bit like the look she’d given a raider out on the Wounded Coast, before she’d slit his throat. “So I don’t know you’re sitting here pining over a certain man of new money with whom we’re both acquainted?” 

Fenris feels his jaw tighten. “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” 

Isabela drums her fingertips on the tabletop. “Mm…it’ll come to you. Beard, soulful eyes, lovely arse.” 

“Please leave,” Fenris says, gulping down the rest of his wine. He’d come here to _avoid_ thinking about Hawke. About how he had told him the tale of his escape, and how Hawke had all but invited him to bed. How Fenris hadn’t been able to make himself say yes. 

Hawke is a distraction he can’t afford. His life, his every waking thought has been on Danarius, waiting, planning, imagining the way it will feel to rip his master’s heart out through his chest, how hot the blood will be on his fingertips. 

But recently he’s been plagued with thoughts of—what had Isabela said?—soulful eyes and a lovely arse. He snorts. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he lies. 

“Well, then. Let me buy you another drink, and you can tell me all about it.” 

Fenris eyes her suspiciously. What does she want from him? “I’ll pass, I think.” 

Isabela rolls her eyes. “ _Maker_ , but you’re difficult. Why don’t you let me take your mind off of him?” She goes on before Fenris can tell her no for what feels like the eightieth time. “And if the architecture is what’s troubling you—.” She gestures down the line of her body. “—There are plenty of handsome men at the Rose.” 

The lyrium scars pulse bright for a moment, burning quick and hot before Fenris gets his anger under control.” 

“I don’t want a whore,” he says quietly. 

“They aren’t slaves, Fenris. All of them are there of their own will. Believe me—.” She grins, pink tongue tracing across her teeth like she’s hungry for something. “There are worse jobs.” 

“Thank you,” Fenris says tightly. “But I would appreciate it if you stopped trying to help.” 

“Very well,” she sighs, finality in her voice as she gets to her feet. She makes to go, but then she spins back around.

“So your life’s been shit, has it, Fenris?” She plants her hands on the table. “Who’s hasn’t? This is a city of refugees, whores, and beggars, if you’re fool enough to ignore a good thing when it comes to you, then maybe you deserve exactly what you get.” 

She leaves him there with the lingering hint of her perfume in his nostrils, voice ringing in his ears.


End file.
